


A Taste of Paradise

by itjustwontquit



Category: Bat Out Of Hell: The Musical - Steinman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itjustwontquit/pseuds/itjustwontquit
Summary: After Tink's death, Raven struggles to adjust to life without StratWarning for suicide ideation





	A Taste of Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about what must have happened in the six months before IACBTMN  
> Huge thank you to [lady-needless-litany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany) for calling me out on my punctuation!

There’s a spirit haunting Falco Tower.

Raven stands by the open window, and she waits. Every night, she stands there in the tattered remains of her wedding dress, with silent tears streaming down her face, waiting for Strat to appear out of the darkness. The servants beg her to eat, to sleep, and she nods and allows herself to be guided to her bed. By morning she is stood there again.

_Do you remember that night? Do you remember how happy we were? You were ALIVE, and we danced, and it felt as though nothing could ever go wrong. You were ALIVE! You were ALIVE, and we had a second chance, and I was flying._

_I thought I’d never see you again, Strat. They told me you were dead, and I thought I’d lost my only chance of happiness, and then you were there and it was perfect._

_You said you loved me._

When she first comes back, she doesn’t cry. She rages, and swears, and tries to kill her father, but she won’t cry. She’s so certain that it will only be a few days, and then she’ll be back in his arms, away from her father, away from the emptiness her mother had left behind her when she left.

But weeks pass, and Strat doesn’t come.

That’s when it starts. Every night at the window, writing in her diary, startling at the sound of distant revving, her dress fluttering around her body, torn to shreds by the harsh wind.

_I promise I won’t close the window, Strat. I know you’ll come for me._

Winter comes and goes, and still she keeps watch. The hope in her eyes fades into despair, and when she sleeps she wakes up screaming.

_It wasn’t my fault, was it, Strat? There wasn’t anything I could have done._

_I can’t stop seeing it, Strat. Every time I close my eyes I can see the blood, and the anger in your eyes, and I keep hearing the gunshot._

_I wish it had been me._

One morning they find her, flushed and shivering, dancing around the room with an invisible partner. When they get her back into bed, she curls up, holding her diary to her chest. She doesn’t cry anymore. Instead, she is passive as they remove her wedding dress, now grey from the long nights of watching and waiting.

_I thought you came for me. I waited and waited and waited and I thought that you were finally here, and then you were gone._

_We were dancing, and for a moment I was in your arms, before everything went wrong._

_Why did you leave? Was it because Tink dying was my fault? Is that why you don’t come for me? I know I’m the reason he died._

_The first time I saw you, it was like seeing an angel. You were on fire, burning so brightly you were the only thing I saw. I’d been alone for so long, and everything was so dark, and you were there, and you lit up everything around you._

_I have to write it down Strat. I think I’m forgetting, everything is so hazy now._

_We were happy, weren’t we, Strat?_

When they try to close the window, she screams.

Zahara visits her every day. She looks at Raven, and sees a shadow of the girl she used to be. Her cheeks are flushed with fever now, rather than exhilaration, and her voice, when she speaks, is a monotone. She won’t allow anything in the room to be moved—it all has to be exactly the same, she says, or Strat won’t know how to find her.

Some days she insists that she can hear Strat calling to her from outside the window.

_I thought I heard you outside today, but they wouldn’t let me go to the window. I can’t move without help Strat, I’m so weak. I can barely remember that night any more. There were roses, red roses like blood spilling down onto the floor._

It takes three months for her to begin to recover. Three months of intermittent fever, of anxious waiting, of times when Zahara is worried that she won’t last the night, and she begins to wonder whether she will have to tell Strat that Raven is dead. Three long months where Raven can barely open her eyes, where the days bleed into the nights, and it seems as though it will never come to an end. Falco paces the halls like a caged tiger, his face drawn and his eyes black. Outside Raven’s room, the tower is empty aside from the servants, who scurry away as he passes them. Some days, he wonders how it ever came to this.

When the fever breaks, Raven is weaker than ever. On good days she can ask where Sloane is, and it seems that she might yet overcome her grief; on bad days she seems to have given up all her fire, and can only cry for her mother. She never mentions Strat, or the Lost, or anything that happened all those months ago.

_Did any of it really happen?_

_This is what I know._

_Tink is dead._

_I killed him._

_You will never love me again._

She has to relearn how to walk. It’s a slow process—after the long months of illness, Raven has an almost bird-like fragility, and for a long time she cannot even stand without support.

She hates it, hates her weakness, hates that the independence she fought so hard for is lost.

_I’m so sorry, Strat._

The sun is too bright, she says. It is burning her eyes. Finally, when she is almost crying in agony, she allows them to close the window.

_I’m so sorry._

She doesn’t speak any more, except to pray.

It’s always the same prayer, some distorted version of the prayer her mother taught her as a child, and when she speaks, she sounds utterly broken.

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_

Zahara is scared. She suspects that if Strat doesn’t come soon, there will be no point.

_I don’t know how long I can keep doing this._

_I love you._

When Strat finds her, she is lying on the floor.

For a moment, he is terrified that he is too late.


End file.
